Mercy (Deridia Book 1)

by Catherine Miller

  Prim took a sip, shrugging her shoulders as she did so. “That doesn’t surprise me, but I’d still like to know about them.” Her brow furrowed. “Desmond never mentioned that people ever went missing from the camp... so where did they come from?”

  Rykkon leaned against the wall, staring into his cup.

  “The great portion of your... your ship is in the Wastes, yes?” It felt strange to call it that, but he knew that was the proper word they used for it. He still found it too incredible to believe that it was indeed a sailing craft, one that cut through the air instead of water. He had seen its remains, the sprinters of what once must have been a fascinating construct reduced simply to scrap. But Prim would know it by such, and so he could humour their continued belief that such had brought them to Mercy.

  “Yes,” she confirmed, as he knew she would.

  “There was another portion that appeared near the Narada. And, presumably, there were also survivors.”

  Prim grew very pale, and he was heartened to see her take another sip. “And... these... Narada. They did not help, did they? Not even as much as you did?”

  Rykkon shook his head slowly. “They proved capable workers,” much as his own people had come to recognise, “and... once those humans began to breed, it was simple to integrate them as slaves.”

  Prim scowled into her cup, her finger tracing over its rim. “Began to breed, or were made to breed?”

  Rykkon hesitated. “I have not witnessed their practices,” he said at last, knowing it was the truth. He may suspect, but he did not know. “They are a valued commodity amongst the Narada, and to own one brings great status. It is... plausible that they would... encourage procreation.”

  Prim’s shoulders sagged, and she nodded her head, clearly unhappy to hear of it—and he expected nothing less.

  “Do you think that’s right?” she asked, her voice subdued.

  “Which part?” he asked carefully, not knowing her intent. “To enslave another? To force them to breed and give up their young?”

  Prim’s eyes flickered to his. “All of it.”

  He set his teshon upon a table and approached her, his steps measured and sure as he held her face between his palms. “My race is a violent one. We are quick to draw the blade, and all possess the means to take a life. But we are also honourable and take no slaves, take no work that is not offered freely. We believe in barter, and in trade, and our mates are treated kindly.” He smiled wryly. “Our females would accept no less.”

  Prim’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I have seen them. Maybe they do know how to use a knife, but that doesn’t mean they match you in strength.”

  Rykkon’s fingers drew to the joint where her jaw met, mimicking where the gland was located. “The females can secret a poison which may be lethal to the male. There is little purpose in harassing one that can end you with a single bite.”

  Prim’s eyes widened. “And you... do not begrudge them that? That they could hurt you?”

  Rykkon’s head tilted to the side. “And do you begrudge me that I am physically strong enough to hurt you?”

  Prim flushed and grimaced. “I am trying not to.”

  Though it may not be what he wished to hear, he supposed he was grateful that he could be assured that she spoke truly. “Does that answer your question?” he queried, hoping it had done so. But evidently, something still niggled at Prim for she sank back, away from him and he allowed it, her cup still held tightly between her hands.

  “So that... the Narada. He thought I was one of their slaves who had gotten away?”

  “Yes.”

  “And would you have gotten in trouble if it was true?”

  “Yes,” he said again.

  Prim nodded. “But... it’s settled now. They know that I’m not, and that’s the end of it.”

  Rykkon reached out and traced his finger across her covered arm, remembering the way it looked pinned beneath the hard plate of the Narada male. “Perhaps,” he supplied, wondering too late if he should continue, even as the words already fell from his lips. “But to explain in full would mean to admit that we have our own humans hidden away. And if to the Narada you are viewed as a commodity...”

  Prim paled, his meaning becoming clear. “Then they would want to know where to find them. To... to enslave them too.”

  “Precisely.”

  10. Young

  Prim had grown quiet and thoughtful, and Rykkon was uncertain how to improve her mood. The teshon was received with a nod of thanks, but she only sipped at it absently, and when he brought her food she nibbled at it obediently, but without any great relish. Finally he sat at the end of the bed, facing her, as he tried to think of something else.

  Her bundle. Surely being able to explore her new clothing would draw her from her dark thoughts.

  But before he could make to retrieve it, her voice halted him, quiet and unsure. “If they are caught because of me, because I asked to come here with you... would that make it my fault?”

  Rykkon wanted to immediately deny it, assure her that she shouldered no blame. If anything he felt more responsible, for he brought her into the village, regardless of whether or not he could possibly know the treaty was to be discussed that day. But he knew what it was to bear faults that were not fully his own, and how difficult it was to expunge the niggling guilt that ever lingered.

  And a simple word of no would not prove sufficient.

  So he had to provide another truth instead, and prepare himself if she chose to press him more than he hoped.

  “You are not the first human to reside here,” he informed her, his voice low and careful.

  Prim blinked at him. “I’m not? But they... they act like it’s unheard of to see me away from the colony.”

  Rykkon suppressed a grimace. “They are... displeased to have another of your kind, which is why it is likely you will face even more contempt than the other.”

  Prim sank back against the furs propped against the wall of the dwelling. “Oh.”

  Rykkon made to reach out, to touch her leg and offer comfort, to offer apology, but he stopped before doing so. He did not know if his touch would be welcomed, and now was not the time to test her. Not when she was so clearly agitated. “My purpose in telling you this,” he continued, hoping she would understand, “is to assure you that they might have seen this other at any time—questioned us just as they are doing now. It is an accident of circumstance, perhaps an unfortunate one, but not one which requires blame to be placed upon you.”

  Prim looked rather dubious, but she did not argue with him—he wondered if that would prove a benefit or not. He did not wish her to bear her burdens alone, her troubles left unspoken, but he also hoped she would simply accept his words and return to the accord they had found living here together.

  Where he was beginning to coax forth smiles, and she thought that perhaps she might be happy. With him.

  Somehow he thought that believing she would bear future responsibility for the enslavement of her people might stand as an impediment to such warm feelings.

  But words failed him, so instead he did go and retrieve the bundle, placing it in her lap, her eyes torn away from the nothingness she seemed to be staring at as she noticed its presence. “Perhaps you would like to see your new things,” he prompted her, feeling foolish all at once.

  As if new coverings could brush away the worries of the day.

  But something of her expression softened as she fiddled with the knot, her fingers pressing between the folds until at last it gave way. Rykkon returned to the end of the bed, content to watch her carefully for any sign of satisfaction or displeasure.

  Mincel had been generous, that much was clear. There were tunics and trous, and underthings that he had only seen when those who came for treatment had felt it necessary to show him some hidden part of their person, as well as finer garments, thin and enticing which were obviously meant to allure.

  He could not help but imagine her in it, and decided he w
ould quite like to see it.

  But he wondered at the gifting of it also, and her intentions of adding it to her payments. He could speculate, whether it was an indication of her lack of favour to Kondarr, or perhaps a secret blessing on his own marriage, but he supposed he could never truly know. Not without asking her directly, and that was something he did not expect her mate would ever permit—especially if the reason lay towards the former.

  Prim looked at it all with a quiet revelry, her hands drifting over the soft fabrics, carefully dyed and prepared for a beauty of his kind.

  Which now would be for his beauty of a mate.

  “Did your people think you beautiful?”

  He did not know why he asked it, not when it was so entirely inconsequential. But he was curious, he supposed, as to how she was seen by the human colonists. There was little comparison between her and one of the Arterian females, but he did not find her features at all displeasing—in truth, he was well looking forward to when she had healed enough to become far more acquainted with them.

  Prim looked at him sharply before she gave one of her little shrugs. “Not really. I’m probably plain by their standards.”

  Rykkon frowned at that. “For what reason?”

  She gave him a strange look. “Does there have to be a reason? I’m sure a few of the boys could have given you a whole list of my faults, but I choose not to think on them. Unless...” she suddenly appeared rather unsure. “Does that bother you? To know you got a plain wife?”

  He mimicked her action with his own shoulders. “I do not find you so. But I do not like to think that you were ridiculed for something so inconsequential.”

  Prim grimaced. “If you don’t want to hear about things like that, then I’d suggest you don’t ask about my childhood. There isn’t much about it that was pleasant for me to share.”

  That troubled him more deeply, and he wondered at the wisdom of it. There were questions he still had, mainly about her father’s claims that her mother had been harmed by a warrior’s hands, but Prim had suffered much this day already, and it seemed needlessly cruel to prompt her on what would almost certainly be a difficult topic.

  Prim drew her knees up, her head still resting against the back wall as she regarded him. “And, since you asked, what about you? Did I get myself a looker?”

  His head cocked slightly, her last word unfamiliar, but he could infer her meaning well enough if she meant to make the same enquiry of him. “My people find my appearance... strange. So in this way, I believe I have cheated you of an attractive mate.”

  Prim’s eyes narrowed, and she seemed to study some of his features more closely, and he grew uncomfortable with her scrutiny. This was not how he had intended this conversation to progress, and he regretted having spoken at all. He made to stand, to leave the bed and find some manner of occupation to keep him from beginning any more foolish conversations, but Prim’s words stopped him. “You didn’t cheat me of anything. I like you well enough, and that’s what matters most.”

  He smiled at her, perhaps a thinner thing than it should have been. “You speak truly,” he answered her, moving to his workbench to begin drying the few ingredients they had managed to collect before he had thoughtlessly suggested they journey into the village.

  But his thoughts were not on the stems before him, his thoughts far too centred on the female still seated on his bed. She liked him well enough. There were worse feelings to be had, to be certain, but he wanted more from her. More with her. For her to not merely like him, but to desire him, to draw him close and whisper promises of all that their life could be.

  But such a fantasy was perhaps unfair, held too much expectation from an accord based more upon companionship and safety than warmth of regard.

  Yet it did not stop him hoping that when she had healed, when he felt surer of his welcome, that some genuine affection could grow between them. That possibly, she might just come to care for him. Perhaps even deeply.

  But for now, he would have to content himself with the knowledge that she did not begrudge his appearance, did not find him lacking so much that she would state so plainly. And while she was different than his kin, with her long mane and skin that only varied in its peculiar shades of red, he found her rather wonderful.

  “Can I... Would it be all right if I made room for my things in your trunk?”

  Rykkon turned, seeing her sitting there with all her gifted articles spread about her and found himself smiling—both at the sight and the simple fact that she had asked something of him. “Of course. You may do as you please.”

  Prim nodded, and he found himself giving the stems much less of his attention than they deserved, his eyes flitting to her with great frequency. She was careful with his things, handling it all gingerly, neatly refolding any items that became mussed, and trying to remember the order in which he kept them. He did not have an abundance of clothing—there was little need for it when hides were simple to wipe down and the rest could be laundered while he remained nude as he waited for them to dry. But he supposed such would no longer be possible, not when his wife remained so skittish of his naked form.

  Perhaps after he was permitted to explore, it would not trouble her so very much.

  He strung up a carefully bound bunch of stems by a hook dangling from the eaves, catching a glimpse of his open trunk as he did so. She had left most of it available for his things, taking only a small portion of the large chest for her own things. With a growing sense of guilt, he realised that he should have suggested she did so before, the few clothes she had brought from the colony remaining in the tattered bag she had brought them in. But even those she treated with care, folding each of them and nestling them amongst her new things, even though they looked all the shabbier, all the more tattered compared to Mincel’s old garments.

  Prim held one of the tunics to her torso, her brow furrowing slightly at its voluminous size.

  “It is for when you grow,” he informed her, amused at her expression.

  It did not seem to clear at his explanation. “I already did all my growing.”

  Rykkon chuffed out a quiet laugh. “I am certain you did. But that is for when you are with child and are growing in a different manner.” Something in him warmed to see it, to perhaps consider that Mincel was indeed giving some small measure of blessing upon them—unless she was denying Kondarr and simply thought it wholly unnecessary. He frowned, wishing he knew which to believe. It would be... nice to think they had a friend in the village. Perhaps that was too strong a word, but the thought of someone not cursing them outright would be an improvement, and one that he felt Prim could use in the future.

  And perhaps so could he.

  “Oh, well, I obviously won’t be needing that.”

  Rykkon’s frown deepened. “What is obvious about that?”

  Prim turned so she could look at him properly, her perplexity shifting toward incredulity, as if she was suddenly having to explain a simple matter to an actual simpleton. “We can’t have babies,” she told him plainly—as if that explained all.

  Rykkon gave up in any pretence of work, turning to look at her properly. “Is that so?” He hesitated, suddenly wondering if he had missed something regarding her health. “Are you... are you unable?”

  She had yet to have one of her courses with him, but he remembered all too vividly one female coming to him, still within her prime, devastated that they had disappeared, no child swelling in her belly to explain such a happening.

  Prim shook her head, still eyeing him as if he was being particularly obtuse. She waved a hand between them. “We can’t possibly have one. We’re... we’re a different species!”

  He likely should not feel affronted at that, yet he did. “You truly think us so different?”

  Prim sighed, one that seemed to him to hold more frustration than one he had heard before from her. “Rykkon, I don’t mean to upset you, I just... I thought this was obvious when we... well, when we chose each other. Did you really want
children?”

  Rykkon stared down at her, warring with himself with precisely what to say. They had broached a difficult subject, one that had a plain and simple answer, but one that would require much sharing on his part.

  And he was not certain he was ready to divulge all.

  Not yet.

  “Would you not have agreed to come if you had thought there was a possibility of young?” He asked it quietly, bracing himself for her response. It had never occurred to him that she might have purposefully done so—the females of his kind simply refused a mate if they did not wish to have young, but there were not many that did so—not in this generation at least. Most were merely young, and none of the males had proved themselves a desirable enough husband.

  Prim set down the garment that had prompted this talk, shifting about on the floor as she evidently debated her reply. “I didn’t... I never really thought about it. It’s not like there was anyone I thought would make a particularly good father in the colony and I couldn’t... I wouldn’t have brought a baby into a life like I had.”

  “Your life is different now,” he reminded her. “I would provide for you both. I would treat you both kindly. I would help you through the birth.”

  Prim’s cheeks flushed as he mentioned the birthing, but he thought it right to assure her to his care even then. She would not be left alone with her pains, frightened and confused at the changes.

  “Rykkon,” she said with another sigh, her hands clenched tightly together. “I don’t see the point in talking about this when it cannot happen anyway.”

  Something in him tensed, and he realised only later, as he nodded and returned to his work, that it felt remarkably like rejection.

  Rejection of his young, of his role as a potential father, and it hurt more than he would have thought possible.

  He stole no more glances as she finished her arranging, and he finished with the stems, disappointed that they had not managed to gather more before their trek into the village. It would take weeks for them to dry properly, and he was running low on a few ingredients.